


Held For Ransom

by sagechanoafterdark



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Asshole Reader, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Language, Major Spoilers, Slow Burn, asshole Ransom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:53:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagechanoafterdark/pseuds/sagechanoafterdark
Summary: Never in a million years would you have expected Hugh Ransom Drysdale to show up on your doorstep. Never in a billion years would you have expected him to weasel his way into living with you as he tries to get his bearings. Despite everything that’s happened over the last year he’s just as difficult and arrogant as ever, at least that hasn’t changed.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale & Reader, Ransom Drysdale & You, Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find this work on my Tumblr Sagechano AfterDark.  
https://sagechanoafterdark.tumblr.com/post/190088263491/held-for-ransom

The knocking at your front door was starting to get on your nerves, Lizzie would answer it right? She’s still here after all, but by what you counted as the fifth round of insisting knocking your roommate still hadn’t answered the door.**  
**

Glancing over at the clock you noted the time 9am on a fucking Saturday. You were going to murder whoever it was on the other side of that door. Rolling out of bed you threw the covers off of yourself and going to the front door. Just as you walked past Lizzie’s room her door cracked open and she peeked out. “What’s going on,” she asked, looking at you with sleep heavy eyes.

With a scoff you stomped over to the door, clad in just a tank top you flipped the lock and slid the chain away from the door throwing it open with a snarl, “What!?”

The moment you laid eyes on him you wish you’d just stayed in bed. “Marshmallow?”

The surprise melted away instantly, shifting your stance and leaning heavily on the door a frown marred your face looking utterly unimpressed. 

Ransom fucking Drysdale stood in your hallway, leaning up cooly against the frame with the same telling smirk and calculating gaze you remembered. Dressed in a pair of jeans, cable knit sweater and the now infamous long brown coat; he still looked like a GQ model with that impish grin. 

Shit. Never thought you’d see his mug again in the flesh, let alone hear that godforsaken nickname he’d given you.

Lip curling slightly you sneered at him, “Murderer,” you greeted back, watching as his grin dropped being replaced with a heavy frown. “What the hell are you doing here, Hugh?”

He swallowed, looking down his nose at you; really was there any other way Ransom ever looked at you before? “Thought I told you a long time ago to call me Ransom. I’m here to collect on a debt,” his gaze shifted above and behind you.

A gasp escaped Lizzie as she stood in the hallway, reaching behind her for the door to the bedroom and closing it hastily. No doubt Grayson, her fiance, was still sleeping inside. “Hugh,” she breathed coming to the door beside you, all pleasant smiles and flirty eyelashes. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

His eyes watched her with the same predator assessment you remembered from university, judging, calculating, lusty and conniving. “I’ve come to collect.”

The silence stretched and you glanced over at Lizzie from the corner of your eye, she’d gone stark white. “Well that’s fucking ominous,” you said rolling your eyes.

To your utter horror, Lizzie let him into your apartment, asking you to stay out with him while she threw on clothes and took him down to the coffee shop down the street to talk. You didn’t want to ask what he meant by “collecting on a debt” and honestly you were afraid to. 

Lizzie had dated Ransom back in your uni days, they’d been steady for three years when he’d dumped her shortly before graduation. She didn’t take it too hard though, she’d bounced directly to Grayson so it wasn’t like she didn’t land on her feet. 

Shrugging you shuffled around in the kitchen, pouring water into the coffee maker and clicking the button willing it with your mind to brew faster. Rubbing your eyes hard you tried to push away the headache that was already threatening to form. Ransom always managed to do two things to you, raise your blood pressure and piss you right off.

Drumming your fingers on the counter you thought about the first day his face flashed on the news, you couldn’t believe it, accused of killing the housemaid and attempted murder of his own grandfather. Snorting you didn’t bother to follow it quite as closely as Lizzie or everyone in your office did, knowing that somehow Ransom would get away with it. He always did.

“Can’t believe you still live with Lizzie,” his voice said behind you.

“Fuck off Ransom,” you half mumbled, pulling a mug down from the cupboard and ripping the carabiner from the coffee machine unwilling to wait for it any longer than necessary.

“I see you’re still as mouthy as ever.” His unimpressed tone was accompanied by the shuffle of papers and you knew he was nosing through the mail littering the counter. “With a mouth like yours I figured you’d be dead in a gutter somewhere,” he said with a smirk.

“And with a rap like yours, I figured you’d be in jail. Yet here we are,” you gestured holding the coffee pot and sliding it back into place. Bending down and reaching into the fridge you pulled out the creamer pouring a little into your cup and mumbling under your breath, “Fucking jerk wake me up on my day off.”

“Do you always walk around in just your panties or is this all just for me,” he quipped from behind you.

Turning your head you saw him leering at your ass from the other side of the kitchen island. You hadn’t made an effort to hide, after answering the door you’d just assumed he’d eventually leave. What did it matter if he saw you wearing cheeky panties anyway? 

Turning around with a steaming cup in hand you held it up to your lips, looking at him through your lashes. “You’re in my house Ransom. If I want to walk around in my panties I think I will.”

Smirking the second you saw him swallow hard, his eyes darting down your body before Lizzie’s door was thrown open. Grayson stood in a pair of loose sweatpants and no shirt, directly behind her. 

Shuffling into a pair of flats, Lizzie had hastily thrown on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt looking like she was going to the gym rather than out for coffee with her ex-boyfriend. “Okay Hugh, I’m ready.”

You could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife as Ransom and Grayson stared at one another, Lizzie leaned up giving him a sweet peck on the cheek before ducking towards the door. Hiding your shit-eating grin behind your cup of coffee you slid a little further towards the end of the counter.

“Grayson.”

“Hugh.”

God this was good. Forcing down the dark heady giggle in your throat as the voice of David Attenborough sounded in your head for the commentary, _“The two males size one another up. Neither distracted by the female in the room, both of whom have mated with her once before.”_ Priceless.

When Lizzie caught your attention and gave you a pleading look you clunked your coffee cup down on the counter, drawing the attention of both men for a brief moment and ending the stare down. “Gray, why don’t you make me some of those eggs you won’t shut up about,” you said with a smile.

Grayson blinked at you a couple of times, chocolate eyes shifting back and forth between you and a smug-looking Ransom. “Oh, yeah alright.”

The man didn’t bother concealing the shorted laugh as he walked to the door in front of Lizzie. Throwing you an exaggerated wink at you, “Be seeing you Marshmallow.” 

The door closed behind him and you scoffed, picking up your coffee cup and wandering towards your room as Grayson rummaged through the kitchen looking for a pan. “In your dreams sweater boy.”

A little more than an hour later you were staring at Lizzie as if she’d grown another head. In the middle of the whirlwind morning, the movers came shortly after she and Ransom had left. Ready to move her out of your shared apartment and into Graysons across town. 

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Inside, you’d hoped to never see his stupid smug face again, but here he was, Hugh Ransom Drysdale, sitting in your kitchen and eating _your_ eggs from _your_ plate. “What do you mean he’s moving in?”

“He’s going to take over my part of the lease, it’s up in a little less than a year and I’m not about to pay the buyout for it,” Lizzie explained watching as Grayson picked up the last couple boxes from the bedroom and the movers tramped through the living room carrying out the bed from her room. 

The sick feeling started in your gut as you watched the back of his head as he ate from your plate of untouched eggs. “Come on Y/N. You know this will give Gray and me a chance to start off good if we don’t have to pay the buyout.”

Everything in you wanted to protest, wanted to scream, shout it from the rooftops that you didn’t want to share a fucking apartment with Ransom, a man you despised and how you would honestly rather get arrested for subletting to a garage band.

Grayson said something about the last boxes being taken and Lizzie leaned in and hugged you tightly. “It will be alright,” she reassured you, her hands squeezing your elbows. “Hugh won’t do anything. It’s just until he gets on his feet then he’ll move out of here.” She glanced over at the man who was still standing at the counter, “Besides it’s not his taste anyway.”

Hands clutching at her elbows you were reluctant to let her go, what kind of hell was Lizzie ready to just leave you in. 

She knew you and Ransom never got along, hell you fought like cats and dogs the whole time they dated. 

Why did she think that was going to change now? 

But leave you she did, with a blown kiss and a wave Lizzie was gone and you were alone. 

With Ransom. 

“Frankly I’m shocked,” he said from the counter. The fork clinking on the plate as he stabbed at the eggs, and shoved in a mouthful. “You’re not worried about me, oh I don’t know, killing you? Where is your self-preservation Y/N?”

“Why would you kill me,” you muttered, still staring at the door and hoping to god that Lizzie would come back and say this was all an elaborate joke. “I don’t have any money.”

“Touche,” he said dropping the fork, brow-raising in mock surprise. “For being a complete d-bag, Gray did always make good eggs.”

With a scoff, you turned around glaring at him for a brief moment before a long string of curses escaped your mouth. Stomping to your bedroom and slamming the door shut behind you before throwing yourself onto the bed with a bounce. 

This was shaping up to be an excellent start to your day off.


	2. Chapter 2

One week in and you’d felt like you’d been sent to hell. 

The whole week was one of tension and arguments between you and Ransom. It wasn’t just one thing, it was everything. It was the way you cooked breakfast in the morning. It was the way he made coffee and used too many grounds. It was how you never made enough food for two people, too used to cooking for yourself after Lizzie had taken to eating with Grayson. It was how he’d walk around half-naked and invade your dreams with thoughts that didn’t belong there.

Tension.

It was thick in the air.

It was late at night and you’d been picking up extra work at the office just to avoid coming home and seeing his smug face for a few extra hours every night. Well, it had caught up to you and after a night of sitting down at the pub and drinking a couple of beers for the weekend, you’d come back upstairs to Ransom. He was always here now and you couldn’t get away from him. 

You’d wake up for breakfast and he was there.

“Morning, Marshmallow.” He greeted as you came out of the bedroom, hair skewed and sleep crusted in your eyes. You jerked in surprise having forgotten he was even here.

Blue-green eyes trailed up and down you disheveled and rumpled appearance, a broad smirk poorly concealed behind the ceramic ‘Trashy and Sassy’ mug. “Sleep well?”

You’d come home from a long day, there he was.

Ransom was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over the back of it as you shuffled into the door. The flats you wore for the walk home, sloshy from the unexpected rain this afternoon. With your luck, you’d also forgotten your umbrella at home ensuring your thoroughly drenched state. 

Again he could say volumes without uttering a single syllable as his eyes regarded you over the back of the couch, slowly drifting up from your soaking wet shoes to your limp hair and scowling face. “Long day at the office?”

“Bite me,” you snarled, slinging your sopping wet coat at his head. Hitting him with a satisfying wet slap.

When you got back from a night out with coworkers. Boom there.

Six shots of tequila and three whiskey sours later your coworker was helping you through the door. Loud whispers and giggles slipping from you as you fumbled with the keys outside the locked door. It was thrown open a minute later. Ransom standing in the doorway in just a pair of boxers no shirt, no pants, “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” 

Even half in the bag you knew it was a dig. But your coworker’s simultaneous gasp and groan of approval told you she didn’t catch on in the least. She still managed to give off a lewd comment before you rudely slammed the door in her face.

Even grocery shopping too.

“I can’t find any good liquor here,” Ransom said, looking up and down the line of bottles littering the aisle. “They have Johnny Walker but no blue label.” This was the eighth sly comment he’d made, first, it was about the cuts of meat available, then it was frozen vegetables over fresh; he had an opinion on everything and it was making your teeth grind together.

“You get a say when you put some money towards the grocery bill,” you snapped, slapping his hands away from the handle of the cart. “Until then keep your yap shut. Booze isn’t on my list anyway, it’s a luxury and money is tight.”

After everything in just the last few days, Ransom had made it perfectly clear. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Snuggling down into the covers of your bed, a heavy sigh escaped you. Despite hating the man with every fiber of your being, you couldn’t make him sleep without a couple of comforts. A blanket and spare pillow from your bed and you’d left him out on the lumpy leather couch in the living room. It wasn’t too bad of a couch for sitting or taking a short nap, but definitely not suitable for a full night’s sleep and most certainly not a man of Ransom’s stature.

It had been during one of your late-night walks to the kitchen you’d seen his feet hanging off the end of the sofa by about a foot as he laid there. The thought still made you snicker a little, after all the years he’d stuck you on that wicker monstrosity of a daybed at his parent’s house when Lizzie would drag you along.

Sighing contently you snuggled the pillow closer, feeling sleep starting to pull you under quickly after your stressful day. Standing at the coffee station in your office you’d sadly you’d come to the realization that this might just be your life now. Stressed out and frustrated with someone that made your head hurt, blood boil and tried your patience. 

At least your room was yours and yours alone, that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

No sooner did you have that thought but the bed dipped behind you. Eyes snapping open and rolling over fast enough that your neck and shoulder cracked from the movement. Ransom loomed over the opposite side of the bed, his knee pressing into the soft mattress hand on the edge of the covers and pillow tucked under his arm.

“What the fuck are you doing,” your voice was still raspy with sleep as you scrambled to sit up in the bed.

Eyes narrowing down at you, his face was one of utter exhaustion, “I’m not sleeping another night on that nightmare you call a couch!”

“Well, you’re not sleeping here.”

“The hell I’m not.”

The arguments with you over the last few days had all went this way, the both of you stubborn as mules and unwilling to bend. Ransom would push you, whether it was eating your goddamn yogurt out of the fridge or flirting with the married older lady next door during the tenant meeting. He’d push you’d push back, but you were tired. So goddamn tired.

“I said no Ransom,” your voice had taken on that tired tone already and you didn’t have enough fight left in you for the day. “Now get out.”

The man didn’t budge, instead, he slunk further onto the bed like a defiant cat and it only served to spike your anger as you growled out his name, “Ransom!” 

Reaching up Ransom scratched his head briefly before breathing a heavy sigh, “Look, I’ll stay on my side of the bed. I’ll even sleep with my own god damned scratchy ass afghan.” He tried to reason, the dark circles under his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before becoming more prominent in the shadows of your bedroom. “But I’m not sleeping out there another night. Your radiator hisses, the couch is lumpy, small and smells like an old shoe. We’re both adults. We can sleep together without fucking each other.”

In an instant, you went from outrage to disgust. “I’d never want to fuck you, Ransom.” Part of you couldn’t believe the absolute gall of this man. He had balls you’d give him that but this was beyond anything you’d thought he’d try to pull. Scowling deeper, and beyond grouchy now that your sleep was being interrupted you pinned him back. “I said no, Ransom.”

“Please.”

The words made the breath hitch in your throat and you audibly choked on air. Did, did he just say please? Like asking you. Clenching your jaw your eyes narrowed in the light of the bedroom, you could actually see the pleading look on his face as he looked down at you in bed. His puppy dog blue eyes were extra wide while his lip stuck out in a sad dejected pout. God, you just wanted to slap him.

“Fine,” you caved, squirming under the covers and wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. “But if I hear you snore. You’re out. You touch me. You’re out. You try anything. You’re out. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” he said with an exaggerated eye roll, his tone would have been almost mocking if he didn’t look and sound so exhausted.

Pulling back the covers you waited for Ransom to crawl into bed, wearing a pair of pajama pants, and an old band t-shirt you’d found in the bottom of the closet. He wiggled down until his head touched the pillow and he sagged against the mattress with an audible sigh.

Rolling back onto your side you presented him with your back but you just couldn’t get comfortable now. It had been too long since you’d shared sleeping space with someone else and it leads to you twitching and shifting position slightly every couple of minutes.

Ransom was getting annoyed if his accelerated breathing was any indication, the heavy exhales from his nose matching the annoyance you felt inside. Finally rolling to your stomach and fluffing your pillow you laid with your head facing towards him, your foot reaching out and brushing against his calf under the blankets.

“Thought you said no touching,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“I meant no spooning and you know it.”

Whenever you were overly tired and a little buzzed a fun thing always happened. Your brain would become sluggish when it came too good decisions or even what words came out of your mouth. Because of this, you’d always been the life of the party at sleepovers since the tender age of fifteen when you started sneaking from liquor cabinets. It’s also what would make you question your sanity in the morning.

“Can I ask you something,” you said, a yawn pulled from your mouth and not waiting for him too answer continued on just the same. “You’ve been avoiding this question since you got here. What did your family kick you to the curb or something cause last I remembered you lived in that fancy house right?” 

Echoing silence met you, and you felt a little trickle of guilt sliding into your consciousness, but you couldn’t even be sure he was still awake. “Ransom?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he rumbled back next to you. 

That certainly woke you up, sitting up your head jerked off the pillow looking him right in the face. “Holy shit,” you exclaimed in a whispered gasp, pulling your knees up under you into a sitting position. The covers pooling around you as you shuffled and he shivered at the cold air. “Did they fucking really do that to you, they kicked you out?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled, eye snapping open and glaring at you, but it softened when he saw your positively wounded expression. 

You were exhausted, there was no other explanation for this sudden wave of empathy you felt for him. “Yeah, I fucking do,” you said, nodding and feeling your anger starting to take root faster than you’d like. “I can’t fucking believe this! How…how…” You were at a total and utter loss for words, a mixed swirl of feelings starting in your chest and chasing away sleep for the time being. “All the charges are dropped and you’re acquitted on the counts of murder so what, they just drop you like a hot rock? They leave you on your own? What absolute fucking bastards!”

Beside you Ransom was now sitting up, your attention was on your clenched hands but you looked up at his surprised face. Eyebrows raised high and his mouth parted slightly in what had to be shock, you snorted continuing on with your tiny rant. “I mean, what they’re all god damned saints or something? Didn’t your mom accidentally kill your dog when you were sixteen and just kind of brush it off like it was no big deal? And your dad, oh don’t get me started. Richard is a fucking bastard. You know he used to peep on me and Lizzie when we’d come over for pool parties and to crash for the night. I know he did. I mean neither of those things is a murder rap but for fuck’s sake.”

The words were just pouring out of your mouth and Ransom stared at you, his mouth now a firm line and his brow furrowed as he watched you. Gaze darting over your face like he was looking for an ounce of dishonesty, some kind of deceit in you. “Are you actually angry with them?”

“Yes,” you said with exasperation, your hand clapping against your thigh. “Why, aren’t you?”

That threw him for a loop, he looked away from you for a brief second. “I guess it’s expected is all.”

“Fuck that,” you scoffed shaking your head and poking him in the chest. “You’re an asshole but the very least your damaged ass family could do is help keep you afloat when you got out of jail and if they couldn’t do that then it’s fucked up.”

“Have you met my family,” he asked with a smirk, the familiar gleam in his eye and you pushed against his shoulder.

With a half-laugh, you stared at the man sitting in your bed. A man wearing the hand me down shirt you’d found at the thrift store who was no doubt used to wearing silk pajamas to bed. A man with only one suitcase of clothes to his name and not much else. He was absolutely out of his element and had no idea what he was doing. “Fuck your family.”’

Cool silence followed your statement, your eyes watching him searching his guarded and almost stoic face. Slowly his shoulders started to shake a little, lips twitching as a genuine smile lifting at the corner of his mouth and his eyes crinkling along with a snort of poorly concealed laughter. It spread to you, in a barking laugh as the two of you began to howl; the exhaustion from the last week of stressful fights, arguments, and nitpicking at one another having taken its toll as you both slipped into temporary madness.

As the laughter died down, you rubbed at your eyes and another yawn pulled at your mouth. Shuffling back under the covers with a bounce on the mattress you, pulled them up around your waist before snuggling back down under their warmth. “Well, tomorrow is a new day,” you said, stifling another yawn with your fist. “You’re starting the job hunt tomorrow and I’m even giving you my old laptop to help you along. So get some rest cause you’re going to have to go out and be nice to people.”

Snorting Ransom rolled to his side, facing towards you this time. Fluffing the spare pillow behind his head, with another quirk of his lips, “That just might kill me.”

A cheeky grin spread on your face as you tried to keep your eyes open for a few moments longer, wanting to give yet another smart-mouthed quip to Ransom just to get that edge in. But the murky warmth of sleep started pulling you down and you relaxed into the bed, the last thing you heard was Ransom rumbling from next to you, “Night, Marshmallow.”


	3. Chapter 3

Blinking awake in the early morning, you could hear the birds out on the fire escape twittering away as sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows. Grunting and flipping the covers over your head, you were far too warm and comfortable to wake up so early on a Saturday morning. 

So fluffing your pillow and giving a contented sigh you let yourself be pulled down by the dozing weight of sleep. There was something about the position you were in, laying on your side with a warm weight over you that made you feel safe as you basked in the ease of the morning.

Wait, what was that weight over your chest? The moment the bed shifted with the movement of another body, your morning went from lazy bliss to absolute mortification in the blink of an eye.

Maybe mortification wasn’t strong enough of a word because your eyes snapped open as the cold rush of panic flooded your body. Slowly you turned your head to look at the body pressed up behind you. Ransom. You were close enough to see his eyes moving under closed lids, hell you were close enough to count those impossibly long eyelashes of his. Cursing inwardly and gritting your teeth, you knew sharing a bed wasn’t a good idea.

Shifting in his sleep, Ransom pressed himself closer to you. His arm tightening against the flesh of your abdomen, but when his hips rocked into your ass your mind noped right out. Throwing yourself out of the bed and directly onto the floor with a thud, limbs tangled in the flat sheet. Peeking over the edge of the bed to see his still sleeping face you heaved a sigh. Thank god he was still a sound sleeper after all these years. Guess when you had nothing to worry about you never slept on edge.

Shuddering with the loss of body heat and the thought of feeling Ransom’s erection against your ass you made your way to the bathroom. Washing your face with ice-cold water and shaking your head of any dark perverted thoughts that seemed to wriggle in. The two of you couldn’t stand one another, and argued constantly; maybe Lizzy was right and you just needed to get laid.

Sliding on your fuzzy robe you went about the normal Saturday routine, grabbing the paper from outside the door while you waited impatiently for the coffee to brew. Eventually, you heard Ransom wake up, a loud yawn coming from your room down the hall and the shuffle of feet as he closed the bathroom door behind himself. You took the opportunity to go make the bed and prep for your shower.

Walking past the bathroom you heard the water already running you scowled at the door. Knuckles rapping against the wood as you called out, “Ransom?”

“In the shower,” came his sing-song response.

Puffing your cheeks in anger you stared at the door, “Are you kidding me! Don’t use all the hot water like the last time!”

“Can’t hear you,” came the snarky laughing reply.

Grinding your teeth you marched into the kitchen and turned on the hot water until you heard the self-satisfying scream from the bathroom. Grinning to yourself. God bless this ancient ass building.

Twenty minutes later you were standing at the kitchen counter mixing pancake batter, having chosen to forgo a morning shower and get dressed. Ransom sat at the kitchen table in jeans and a long-sleeve henley, his hair is still damp and falling over his forehead slightly as he looked over the newspaper.

“This is so god damn stupid,” he shouted, throwing the red pen down with a tap. “Who the fuck looks for a job in the classifieds anymore?”

Holding back a laugh, you flipped the flapjack in the pan, “Oh, I don’t know people who are out of work. People looking for a second job. Rich playboys who just beat a murder rap and need to get a fucking job cause they don’t have any money.”

“I have money,” he muttered, the pout evident in his tone. You didn’t have to turn around to see the angry pout on his face, it was becoming a staple of his moods lately.

Pointing at him with the spatula over your shoulder you shook your head, “I don’t think so. You showed up here with less than a thousand dollars in your pocket and just a suitcase full of clothes. That’s only half the rent and utilities and you’re still fifty bucks short. Ransom, you need a job to pay for things, that’s how the world works. There are no trust funds here.”

He grew eerily quiet. It was one of those quiets that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, turning your head you saw him sitting with his arms crossed, fingers playing with a plastic stir stick as he chewed on it, blue eyes distant and focused at a point on the wall.

“Whatever you’re scheming stop,” you warned, flipping pancakes to a plate and sliding them in front of him. He looked up at you with narrowed eyes for a moment before dropping the gnawed up plastic and reaching with his fork for a few flapjacks.

“What makes you think I’m scheming?”

Gesturing to him you swallowed the bite of toast you’d just taken, “Just who you are. Besides back in Uni you always used to chew on something when you were thinking about how to get away with shit.” Glancing over at him he looked surprised, eyebrows high but a smirk still on his lips. “It’s why none of my pens ever had caps on them, you’d come over and chew them off like a teething puppy while you were schtupping Lizzie.”

“I wasn’t schtupping her,” he protested, with a heavy scoff in his voice.

Returning his lame attempt with a long stare you swallowed the mouthful of food, “Oh please, you were absolutely schtupping her. The walls were thin in that dorm Ransom. I could hear everything Lizzie and Amanda and Lauren and Kat.”

For once you saw what looked like a flush go over his face before it disappeared behind a mask of obnoxious overconfidence. It was starting to become unnerving how easily you could read him now, you were definitely spending too much time with him. “I know where to get some money.”

Choking on your orange it splattered over the table, dribbling a little on your jeans as well. You sopped up the mess with a napkin before giving him an exasperated look, “Oh just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Brow drawn together in suspicion you looked him up and down before kicking his feet off the leg under the table as he sat up straighter. “Feet off my table and tell me, what money?”

After a stunning recollection of the mundane tasks Ransom had performed for Harlen during his summer internship, the story concluded with the two of them actually bonding a little and stuffing a glass jar full of hundreds, some jewelry and trinkets from the estate. They’d dubbed it a Rainy Day Fund and according to what Ransom remembered it could have had over ten thousand dollars in it.

“Oh. My. God.” You exclaimed running a hand through your hair. “Please do not tell me what I think you’re going to tell me.”

Blue eyes stared into your own in one of the most unfeeling and uncaring ways you’d ever experienced as he delivered the worst news you could possibly think of right this moment, “It’s buried at the estate.”

“Oh fuck me,” you cursed burying your face in your hands.

“I don’t fuck my roommates,” he said with a smirk but it fell the instant he leaned forward against the table. “The problem is that Marta owns the house, so technically she owns the jar.”

Looking up at him between your fingers you shake your head, “No Ransom. We’re not stealing a jar of money from that girl. If you want it you’re going to have to talk to her.”

His mouth set in a firm line, “She won’t talk to me.”

Dropping your fingers to the table you drummed them against the surface absently, thinking long and hard about what the options were for this get rich quick scheme. Which by the way is exactly what this was. 

Ransom was right about one thing, Marta was going to want nothing to do with him. He’d tried to kill her after all, pulling a knife on her and thank god it was a stage prop. “Okay yeah, if you tried to kill me I’d be more than a little apprehensive too.”

He didn’t respond, only clenching his jaw a little tighter. Tipping your head back you looked at the popcorn ceiling of your apartment, sighing heavily and rubbing at your eyes. “Okay, well you have to talk to her, we’re not stealing money from her. It’s basically a time capsule you two buried together right? If we go for that angle maybe she’ll let us dig it up.”

“Us?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you gasped feigning mock hurt as you looked at him, batting your eyes. “Were you just going to go on a treasure hunt without me? Besides, someone needs to watch you when you go to the estate. Who knows what’s going to happen and how many times you’ll put your foot in your mouth.”

Ransom stared at you long and hard, his blue eyes searching your face for something. “Why are you being so nice to me now?” He asked, catching you off guard. “You’ve been nothing but a raging bitch since I got here and now you’re being… soft.”

Blinking a couple of times you were taken aback by the question, hoping that he’d maybe never ask it in a million years. Praying that maybe he’d be so self-centered and focused on himself that he wouldn’t have even noticed. Why were you being nice to him? Why would you want to help him? “Well, you see it’s…”

“Pity?” He cut you off before you could answer, the ire in his voice matching his steely blue gaze. Quickly you recalled the short conversation from the night before. He was alone, most likely for the first time in his life, with no real safety net. You didn’t pity him.

“Empathy,” you corrected, with a forced smile. “If you want to be a dick. Go ahead be the biggest prick you could ever be. I really don’t expect anything less from you, Ransom. But we’re living together and that’s not going to change any time soon as far as I can tell. So, don’t make me regret being kind to you.” The warning caught his attention full-on, you could tell by the way his gaze sharpened slightly, eyes narrowing at the edges for the briefest of moments. “Cause if you burn this bridge, there’s no going back.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, “But marshmallows are always sweeter when they’re a little bit toasted.”

“They’re also good with chocolate and gram crackers,” you mused standing from the table and picking up the empty plates. “Just don’t go holding me over fire any time soon alright.”

“Don’t worry Marshmallow,” he said, looking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. “I won’t burn you too much.”

“Careful Hugh,” you warned, voice dropping in octave just enough to match the sultry look he tried playing on you. There was no mistaking as he shifted slightly in the chair, his eyes widening slightly at your tone. “You play with fire you’re bound to get burned.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You know she’s watching you from inside the house right?” 

The breath came out of you in puffs of white as you stood leaning against your car, legs crossed at the ankles and arms over your chest. The chilly fall air was enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck and it didn’t help that it was damp outside from the rain.

Standing in front of you, Ransom faced the house. His back to you, clenching and unclenching his fists; the decidedly fancy scarf draped over his shoulders made you snicker. He hadn’t been back to the mansion since his arrest, apparently, his family had come a few times. Marta being kind-hearted inviting them over but never extending the invitation to Ransom for what you considered obvious reason.

On the drive over you snorted when he told you that, “Why would she?” The tree-lined road wound closer and closer to the house in the New England countryside. “You tried to murder her in front of two detectives and a P.I. you hired. You’ve also never really apologize to her before.”

“I’ve apologized,” he cut in, outrage in his voice as he gripped the handle above the window a little tighter as you took another curve going sixty-five. 

“Did you mean it?” The question snapped out of your mouth, impatience growing with him. You glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye. “Did you actually mean what you said, or was it just some line to make yourself look better in front of the judge? When you say things like that you have to mean it, Ransom, otherwise it’s hollow.”

The tone you used was harsh, the words biting but judging; from the stoic look on his face, he’d never even considered it before now. God himself knew Ransom rarely felt true guilt for anything he ever did or said. But standing here in front of the house. Waiting to knock on the door, the line of his usually proud shoulders sagging slightly; he looked insanely guilty.

Jesus, you couldn’t take it anymore.

Scoffing and rolling your eyes you pushed past him, knocking your shoulder into his on purpose and stalking past as he made a sound of irritation. Shoes crunching under the pea stone as you made your way up to the house, his annoyed footfalls close behind. “I can’t believe you’re being such a pussy about this,” you scoffed harshly coming up the front steps and pressing the doorbell. 

Stopping beside you Ransom looked down his nose at you, blue-green eyes narrowing at the insult; his mouth opened about to give what would be no doubt a scathing retort when the door was thrown open. 

Previously you’d seen Marta in the media, once the will was read her face was on the local news; then during the trial, she’d been in the newspapers occasionally. But standing here she looked just as small and sweet as she seemed, wearing a pair of jeans and a mint green sweater. 

“Ransom,” she said with feigned surprise, her honey-colored eyes looking him up and down suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

Clearing his throat and turning fully towards her, Ransom threw on a wiry smile, “I’m here to-”

“Ask a favor,” you finished for him with a quick glare over in his direction, no way were you going to take part in lying to her. It succeeded in drawing her attention. Marta looked you over, her warm gaze regarding you with honest suspicion. But you smiled at her as friendly as you possibly could have. Understanding exactly what she was thinking, you’d be suspicious of anyone tagging along with him too. “May we come in?”

Sitting in the study, you saw Ransom stiffen the moment he’d entered the house. His gaze shifting over to the portrait of Harlen on the wall, you could see where he got the smug grin from. Marta showed you both to the study saying something about making some coffee before leaving the two of you alone.

Plopping down on the couch you looked around the room, this was the kind of study you dreamed about as a kid. Big, enormous in fact, floor to ceiling bookshelves and everything; the decor was a little macabre but you understood given Harlan’s profession. “I think I would have liked Harlan,” you said off-handed; looking at life-size crystal human skull. “He seems like an eccentric person.”

“He would have liked you.” The statement was so quiet you’d barely heard it, your eyes snapping over to him. His gaze was locked on the far wall, at what you didn’t know. “He always liked a bitch with a crack shot mouth.”

Cracking a smile you turned to look up at him, “Why thank you for the compliment Ransom. I’ll be sure to put a gold star on the fridge for you when we get home.”

He snorted, walking to the other side of the room and standing in the space, looking down at the indents on the floor.

“I took it down,” Marta’s voice came from the doorway. She stood holding a tray with three steaming mugs of coffee. “The spider web. I took it down after everything.”

Glancing between the two of them you stood coming over towards Marta, reaching out and taking the tray from her hands. “Thank you for seeing him, Marta. I know you didn’t have to but I appreciate you letting us in.”

She looked a little bewildered at you, her brows drawn together as she handed the tray over to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, I’m Y/N,” you said with a polite smile not offering any other explanation outside of that.

The woman looked between you and Ransom, he still stood there in the brown coat, looking down at the indentations on the floor. “What are you doing here Ransom?”

As the man turns toward you and Marta you noticed how his mouth set in a firm line, you set the tray of drinks onto an adjacent table, making your own coffee and taking a loud slurping sip. Ransom’s eyes shifted over to you in a glare; the muscles in his jaw twitching. Grinning back at him smugly, daring him to say something to you.

“I need a favor, Marta,” his tone was neutral despite the displeasure written all over his face.

The woman’s brows rose in surprise, “Ransom if this is about the inheritance I don’t think-”

“It’s not about money,” he cut in with a half growl. Across the room you cleared your throat, shooting him a look that had him taking a deep breath. “Well, it’s not about the inheritance money. I’m here to apologize and ask if you’ll let me dig something up. Harlen and I, we, we buried something. A jar. Let me dig it up and after that, you never have to hear from me again.”

Marta stared at him, unblinking as you sip your coffee looking between the both of them.

“Is it the jar you buried in the flower bed,” she asked shifting from foot to foot her arms crossing over her chest. “Under the window next to the slab rock?”

Ransoms face fell a little, so Marta knew about the jar. Of course, she knew about the jar, Harlen shared everything with her, she was practically the daughter he always wanted, cleaver with a good heart.

“Harlen told me about the jar a long time ago,” Marta confirmed, coming over and taking a mug of coffee from the tray. “That you and he had buried it after you’d been his assistant for that summer. That it was one of the best memories he had of spending time with you. I’m not sure if I should just give it to you.”

She let the statement hang in the air, the tension growing so thick that it was weighing you down as well. “Then what do I have to do to get it,” Ransom asked, his brow drawn together.

“How about a game of Go.”

Ransom’s jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. “Get the board out.”

“Um, what are we doing?” You asked watching the two of them set a gridded board between them and picking up bags full of tiny black and white tiles. “Board games really?”

“Harlen said the only other person that could beat him at Go was Marta,” Ransom explained in a low tone to you as Marta set the board up behind you on the low coffee table, taking off his coat and pushing the sleeves up on his sweater before picking up the sack of tiles. “Winner takes all.”

Marta looked up at him briefly, “Just to be clear we’re talking about the jar, not everything else.”

“I only need what’s in the jar.”

The tiles went down quickly as you watched, neither of them bothering to explain to you exactly how to play the game or what the rules even were. It was intense as they were laid down, one right after the other, eventually, Ransom was about to place his piece down and froze. Looking at the board critically his eyes glancing up at Marta a few times.

“I don’t know how to play this game, but it’s looking like you’re losing Ransom,” you whispered loudly to the room. He shot you a scathing look twisting the white tile around in his fingers, you tried to not pay attention to the glances and stares Marta gave you as you stood watching the game.

“It would seem,” Marta concluded softly. “The only thing that would help you now, is an earthquake.” Blinking you watched as the board began to shake unceremoniously, the pieces wobbling until the wooden board fell to the floor with a clatter, pieces scattering. “Looks like you win, Ransom.”

Twenty minutes later the patter of rain began to fall against the patio window, Ransom stood outside shovel in hand, clad in a soaking wet t-shirt digging in the dirt beneath the window. Standing inside and sipping at the steaming mug of coffee as you watched him, digging the hole deeper and deeper. Looking around himself and second-guessing when after three feet there was nothing there.

After the third hole he began digging you leaned over to Marta, “You already dug it up didn’t you?”

Beside you, Marta set down a jar filled to the brim with rolls of money and a few pieces of jewelry peeking out between the sea of green Ben Franklin’s. “Three weeks into the trial,” she smirked behind the rim of her mug.

A laugh began to bubble up inside of you as you stood watching him. An irritated growl sounded from outside, Ransom was looking right at you. The rain began to fall harder, striking against the window and soaking him further. 

He was covered in dirt, smudging his face and his previously perfect hair clung to his forehead. Blue eyes glaring at you from outside as he wiped at his mouth with the back of his dirt-covered hand. “Something funny, Y/N?”

Setting down the mug of coffee you reached over picking up the glass jar and shaking it with a shit-eating grin on your face. Reveling in the look of utter shock that crossed his face, blue eyes wide enough to see the white all the way around his eyes. 

The smugness you felt was short-lived as he threw down the shovel and stalked over towards the front of the house, your laughter died as you heard the front door slam closed. “Oh shit,” you muttered between muffled laughter setting the jar down and facing towards the door to the study. 

A filthy Ransom stood, water dripping from his chin; sopping wet clothes clinging to him and dirt-smudged and caked over all of his clothing. A small puddle was forming under him on the carpet as he took one squishy step forward. “You think this is funny Marshmellow?”

His voice was dangerously low, but it only made your smile crack wider. You weren’t scared of him and were far too absorbed in teasing him to notice the look Marta shot you with the use of his nickname for you. 

“Oh,” you said laughter in your voice. “I think this is the funniest god damn thing I’ve seen in a while.” Seeing the though flicker through his head before he acted on it your hand flew up as he stalked towards you. “No. No. No!” You chanted with laughter, circling opposite of him and holding up a hand for him to stop.

But he didn’t relent, a wicked grin on his face as you were on opposite sides of the couch; Marta now a forgotten observer. “You think this is so funny, just wait till I catch you.”

“You ass hole,” the insult was shrieked from your mouth as you backed to the other side of the couch and he came around, making a move to grab you, his fingers twisting into the sweatshirt you wore as you tried to dart away. A shriek of laughter erupting from your mouth. But to your surprise he didn’t do anything at first, just grabbed you with a smug smile and a light in his eyes you’d never seen before.

The floorboards squeaked behind him as Marta tried to sneak out of the study and all at once the light in his eyes died and a guarded look returned to his face once again. Lifting a hand he smeared the back of it down the side of your face, dragging the grit of dirt against your skin and you gasped, realizing that he’d pulled you against his sopping wet frame and now you too were soaking wet.

All at once his grip on you disappeared and you were standing there also wet and dirty.

“Charming Ransom,” you said with a roll of your eyes, fingers wiping at the dirt clinging to your skin.

“You said you’d help Marshmellow,” he chided clicking his tongue, taking a step away. “Thank’s for all of your help today. I really appreciate it.”

Watching him as he walked away, back out the doors of the study presumably towards the bathroom to clean up even just a little bit your eyes found Martas. Drifting down to your now soiled clothes, your face contorted in what was no doubt exasperated anger, “Are you fucking kidding me, Ransom!”


	5. Chapter 5

Sipping on your fifth cup of coffee this morning you sat at home, grateful that you could work the day from the comfort of your pj’s. But also annoyed you had to search out the old laptop you’d bestowed upon Ransom. Finding it in the living room wedged between the end table and couch, you turned on the old piece of junk and waited. 

Rubbing your eyes in exhaustion it was 10 in the morning and you were already exhausted. Ransom had kept you up half the night with his restless tossing and turning in the bed next to you. It was only at three am when you’d ended up grabbing him from behind in an effort to hold him still, it was most definitely NOT spooning.

Rubbing at your sore neck while the screen loaded, your mind wandered back to this last weekend and the discussion you’d had. It was on the way back from the estate where you’d found an unlikely friend in Marta, exchanging numbers before you left with a smile and a wave. Ransom sat in the passenger seat, turning the glass jar over in his hands looking at the tightly rolled bundles of money and trinkets that clanked around in the jar. 

“The first thing I’m getting is a bed,” he mused with a smile.

“Uh, no.” You said next to him, with a scowl. “The first thing you’re doing is paying your share of the rent, then we budget. No bed.”

He openly stared at you in the car, the awkward silence punctuated by the crooning of Bob Sieger on the radio. Finally, he smirked over at you, face still streaked with dirt in a few places despite trying to clean it off in Marta’s bathroom. “If I didn’t know any better Marshmellow I’d say you liked sleeping with me.” 

Beside him you sucked on your teeth for a second, quirking a smirk as you glanced at him briefly, “Then it’s a good thing you know better.”

A little more than a week later and he was doing good on the budget, be it a little straying but counting the money and valuables in the jar afforded him close to one hundred grand in cash and trinkets. 

The two of you sat at your kitchen table counting the tightly wrapped rolls of hundred dollar bills, looking at jewelry and pocket watches you’d only ever seen on Antiques Road Show before. It was unbelievable but he looked disappointed when you gave the final total.

“I thought there would have been more,” he said with a scoff tossing a genuine diamond and sapphire necklace onto the table. You wanted to strangle him right then and there, this was double what you made in a year and it still wasn’t enough.

He’d agreed to put half of the cash in the bank, god forbid someone fine it in your apartment and the jewelry went into the safety deposit box you’d kept your comic books in. Ransom scoffed at your copy of Avengers 1 until you told him it sold before for six figures a couple of years ago.

Finally finished booting up you rolled your eyes at the hunk of junk laptop. Remembering why you got rid of this one to begin with, unsure how someone as impatient as Ransom could be working on it. It also only figured that after you’d given it to Ransom you’d actually need documents off of it. Clicking through subfolders until you found the spreadsheet you were looking for you sent it to yourself, loading it and the remainder of documents into your cloud drive.

Minimizing the screen a folder on the desktop catches your eye. The inconspicuous yellow folder is named ‘Harlen’ and glancing around the room you bite your bottom lip.

Technically you gave this to him, but it’s still your laptop, right?

Cursor hovering over the folder you thought about it for about a second before double-clicking and opening it, showing about a dozen word documents. Clicking one labeled ‘Last Rights’ your eyes grow huge when the document opens, a couple of hundred pages long the header stares at you and you gasp out loud, “Holy shit!”

There on the page in black and white are the words,  
Last Rights, By Hugh R. Drysdale  
Dedicated to my Grandfather.

Scrolling through the document you start reading, its a fucking book! Eight hundred pages of words and from the first few paragraphs really god damned good ones. You’d read enough bad manuscripts working for the publishing house that your eyes would bleed. But this. This was amazing. Three pages in and you were hooked. Eyes darting over the words, reading line for line. Faster and faster.

Why would he hide something like this? 

How long had he just been sitting on these? Closing the document you looked at the folder. There were a dozen documents in here, all of them different.

Biting your lower lip your eyes flicked to the time. 

He would be back any minute. Quickly you opened another folder on your share drive, dragging the folder into the window and waiting for it to load before closing out. Deleting the browser history and closing the lid on the laptop, you were just setting it back down when you heard his keys hit the door.

Raybans still on his face Ransom kicked the door closed behind him dramatically, a bottle of champaign tucked under his arm and one of the most cheesy grins you’d ever seen him sport. “Guess who got a job!”

Thirty seconds later you were standing at the kitchen island, mouth half-open while Ransom searched through your mismatched cups for something suitable to toast out of. “You can’t be fucking serious Ransom?”

Eyebrows pulled together the brunette pulled down two Disney tumblers from the cupboard, “What, it’s a job isn’t it? You said it yourself I need to make some money and contribute outside of the savings I had.”

“Okay,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “First of all, stop calling the pickle jar full of hundreds you had buried at the estate savings. Second, that’s my fucking publishing firm! I work there.”

Ransom flashed you a cocky wicked smile and you cringed, “Oh, I’m well aware. They needed a day janitor so I applied.”

“And they gave it to you.”

“Yep,” he said snapping the last syllable and pouring two glasses of Dom Perignon. 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he handed the glass to you half full.

Ransom held his glass up in salute and you sighed heavily, clinking your own against it. “Why the fuck not,” you muttered, taking a mouthful of the bubbling liquid and draining nearly half of it. As Ransom mused over the quality of champagne available at the corner deli you stared at him.

You almost couldn’t believe it, but then again he was living with you and slept in the same bed as you. So of course, he would get a job at the same place you worked. Knocking back the rest of the glass you hiccuped at the bubbles tickled you from the inside out. Of course.

Three days. 

That’s how long Ransom lasted. 

Three whole days as the cleaning staff at the publishing company.

Sitting in the coffee shop down the street from your apartment your chin rested on your fist as you watched people come and go out the window. Okay so he’d gotten a different job, something more suited to his tastes than mopping floors would ever be. But he could have at least waited a week before quitting right?

“The money will last until I can find real work,” he justified, standing in the apartment wearing the green janitorial jumpsuit.

Scoffing at him you gestured up and down to him, “I don’t know if you realize this but what you had was a real job. It’s hard to do too or is that the reason you quit, to begin with?”

“Look I have a master’s in business and lit, I can get a job anywhere in this town,” his voice had taken a lower tone, reserved only for when he was trying and failing to be reasonable.

“Oh, like there aren’t a million other people out there with the same thing. And none of them were on trial for murder Ransom.” 

The way his face twisted made your gut clench, since when did you start feeling bad for him? When exactly did that shit start? 

“Look,” you began again, tempering your tone and trying your best to calm down. “ I don’t give a shit if you quit the job. People quit all the time. I just wished you had something else already lined up before you did.”

He gave you a withering look, “As if I didn’t know that already. I’ll be temping at a law firm for the next three months. Basement level work and administrative but it’s better than cleaning floors all damn day.” He looked smug, a smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth at your surprise. “I’ll be sure to give you my uniform to turn in to the boss when you go back next week.”

Sighing your hand toyed with the stack of papers sitting next to you. “Last Rights” sat beside you on the table as you waited for Lizzie to come over with her drink. Yeah, knocking him down a couple more pegs would have been nice.

“Sorry, that took so long. So how’s your time with Hugh going?” Lizzie asked, pulling out the chair across from you.

An audible groan left your lips as you rolled your head backward. Your hand tightening around the paper cup. In front of you.

“That bad?”

“You won’t believe some of the shit he’s pulled,” you muttered taking a sip of your drink. “Just last week he had me back at the estate while he dug in the dirt looking for a god damned glass jar full of money.”

“Oh,” Lizzie exclaimed, “Like in his grandfather’s book, An Arch Over Troubled Water?”

Was that your eyebrow twitching, “Evidently yes.”

“Sounds exciting,” Lizzie exclaimed.

Snorting you shook your head assuring her that it wasn’t all that exciting at all but still feeling a slight flutter when you thought of Ransom chasing you around the library soaking wet. Clearing your throat you quickly changed the subject back to Lizzie’s favorite topic, herself. She began to regale you with how her move in with Grayson was progressing. The melding of their personal items hadn’t been too difficult; only resulting in two fights ending in compromise which you knew as code for hot sex on the kitchen counter.

Somewhere in her story about picking out new china for the apartment, your mind began to wander, as did your eyes. This happened to be your favorite coffee house for two reasons. One, the scones were amazing and two was the barista Aiden.

A fine specimen of a man with a body like it was chiseled from marble, he had long brown hair you just wanted to run your fingers through and honey color brown eyes with a few tattoos that always managed to peek out from under the tight white t-shirts of his uniform.

Gaze watching intently as he moved around the coffee bar, making drinks for people in line, his arms flexing as he reached left and right and pulling leavers on the cappuccino machine then scooping ice into the blender the next. Just watching him had you biting your lip.

You could see Ransom working a place like this, he’d surely pull enough tips if he was nice enough. But that made you snort unless people paid to be insulted you doubted he’d make a whole lot when it came to tips. Somehow your mind could see him behind the counter, wearing the black apron and white t-shirt, those arms you’d glimpsed while he was digging last weekend visible as he worked the same way Aiden did. Blue eyes calculating before that signature smirk would pull at his lips just so.

“Just ask him out already,” Lizzie’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Who Ransom?” You asked, nose wrinkling in confusion but your face turning bright red.

She scoffed at you, gesturing with her eyes, “No, the barista.”

A laugh bubbled up from inside of you and you tossed your head back in self-deprecating laughter. “Are you kidding me,” you wiped at the corner of your eye. “A man like that? I have no business asking him out.”

“A man like who?”

The voice made the breath catch in your throat and roll your eyes at the same time. Turning your neck craned up to look at Ransom, standing next to you in a blue threadbare sweater and pair of jeans; his hand clutching a paper cup and his laptop tucked under his arm. So this is where he’d been running off to. Your fingers itched to shove the manuscript further into your purse less he sees you had stolen a copy.

“Hello Hugh,” Lizzie breathed, looking both nervous and happy to see him as she sat a little straighter in her chair.

His eyes didn’t turn to Lizzie instead they staid locking onto your own, “Hello Lizabeth.” Across from you, Lizzie giggled but the staring match between the two of you hadn’t stopped. “Who are we talking about? What man?”

“None of your business Ransom,” you snarked but your eyes betrayed you, darting over towards Aiden then back to his face. But it was too late and Ransom knew exactly who you’d been talking about based on the shit-eating grin.

“Really? Didn’t think guys like that were your type,” he said with a smirk on his lips.

Crossing your arms you leaned back in the chair, “And what exactly is my type Ransom?” 

The smile briefly fell from his lips as he stared at you, you’d noticed him doing that a lot more lately. He’d stare at you instead of just delivering the scathing retorts you’d come to expect from him. Where was the response about how you’d dated your way through the IT department in university? It was almost like he was holding back for something, something big.

“Macchiato for Y/N!”

The world stopped for a second, you didn’t order anything. But Ransom’s shoulders were shaking with barely concealed laughter as he looked down at you and you cursed, how long had he been here watching you openly ogle Aiden? “I hate you.”

“Aw come on. Don’t let your coffee get cold now Marshmellow,” he said, laughter in his voice.

Scoffing you stood, making your way over to the counter and ready to take the drink and sit back down. But only a step away you made the decision. You had no idea what kind of game it was Ransom wanted to play here, and there was no way in hell you were playing into his hands.

Stepping up to the counter you put on your best smile, taking the drink from Aiden with both hands thanking him and striking up a conversation with him. You were sure your face was red all the way from your chest to the tips of your ears as you tried to flirt and out of the corner of your eye watched as Ransom’s ear to ear grin began to fade.

It spurred you on, tucking your hair behind your ear and looking up at Aiden under hooded lashes before smiling a little more. His own body language began mirroring your own and it took all of thirty seconds for you to realize that holy shit he was actually interested in you!

At the table Lizzie was quiet for a moment, watching as you stood up at the counter you were far enough away that usual conversation was drowned out by the sound of blenders but they quieted enough just in time for you to catch your best friend clear as day, “You’re so transparent Hugh.”

Your eyes snapped over to the two of them in time to see Ransom’s venomous gaze turn on Lizzie briefly before muttering something to her, his silver tongue sharp enough to make her audibly gasp his name. That drew your full attention as you watched Ransom straighten his shoulders and march out of the coffee shop, never bothering to look back.


	6. Chapter 6

Blame.

It’s a funny thing.

You can put it all on coincidence. 

Hell, you can even point the finger at someone else, because there’s still three pointing back at you. You could run as far as you wanted to. Shut the door to your bedroom and cry until there was nothing left. 

But there was no escaping this. 

Watching him as he slept in the ridged bed the steady rise and fall of his chest giving you comfort as the exhaustion of the last few hours weighed you down, but a frown still pulled at the edges of your mouth. 

The staff had stopped asking you to go home hours ago, you weren’t going home. Not until he woke up.

Someone bumped into you as they walked past. The older man shuffling past in the white gown his hand clutching the IV pole as he walked with the help of a nurse mumbling her apologies. A squeaky wheel echoing down the eerily quiet hallway and around the corner of the recovery and intensive care ward.

Yes, this was all your fault. 

The arrogance you displayed submitting the manuscript for Last Rights was now number one on your biggest regrets list. If you hadn’t, maybe this would have happened; he wouldn’t have had a reason to come back to your office. He wouldn’t have been yelling at you in the elevator and you wouldn’t have hit the button for the parking garage just to get away from him faster.

Tears sprang to your eyes as you recalled what happened in pristine detail, the images seared into your mind. His hand covered in blood, lip split and blood gushing from the cut just below his eye; Ransom had looked at you laying on the pavement before dropping to his knees as blood began to stain the cable knit he loved to wear.

Just hours before you’d been arguing relentlessly; scoffing as your secretary phoned you to tell you that Ransom was there to talk to you when you could hear him clear as day through the door. His voice raised in ire but you’d come out guns blazing; a stern glare and your bag strapped to your shoulder as you grasped his elbow. “Stop yelling at Ana, she has nothing to do with this,” your gaze shifted over to Ana. “Cancel the rest of my day and move my meetings around I’ll be back in tomorrow morning.”

Quickly you ushered Ransom to the elevator where he’d begun to lay into you just as the doors closed. “Are you out of your god damned mind?!”

Crossing your arms you glanced over at him, “Okay first off I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Last Rights,” he ground out between his teeth.

Eyes not leaving the digital display above the door as the elevator slowly began to descend, you breathed out, “Oh.”

“Oh? Is that really all you have to say?” He barked beside you, the arrogance you’d come to expect out in full force. “You stole from me Y/N. I don’t know when you did it but your editing firm called this afternoon and they want to schedule a meeting to talk about the book. Much to my surprise when they wanted to talk to Hugh Price. Really original on the pen name there by the way.”

Pressing the button for the garage you growled shooting him a glare and grinding your teeth. All you had to do was get through the garage to the subway platform, you just wanted out of the confined space with him before you did something you shouldn’t.

Thinking of your colleague’s faces as the elevator doors opened on a couple of other floors to Ransom tearing into you, their eyes darting up to him and then back to you as the doors slowly closed again. Your face heating with both embarrassment and rage as the door dinged open on the first floor of the parking garage. Exiting the elevator he pursued after you, “Hey I’m talking to you Y/N.”

“You’re not talking to me Ransom, you’re yelling at me.”

“I have the right to be angry about this, Y/N.”

“I can’t believe you’re angry about this,” you growled out, the heels you wore clacking loudly against the pavement and echoing through the parking garage. 

“You had no god damned right Y/N,” he shouted voice echoing through the garage, reaching out and snatching hold of your arm. Halting you from trying to walk any further away, he grasped you harder, dragging you around to face him his features contorted into a scowl. “Those were my personal documents. If I wanted them published I would have taken them somewhere.”

Face matching his own, you could see the surprise in his eyes when you shook his hand off you; rounding on him fully. “You’re unbelievable Ransom!” The tone you held was condescending and accusatory. “Is struggling just to prove a point to yourself really worth sitting on a gold mine of fiction? You’re just hiding it all away, this could be your ticket! Don’t you get that?”

He was upon you in a second, only a hair’s width of space between you and it made you gasp. His breath fanning over you face as he glared down at you, but all you could do is look at his mouth. Plush lips pulled down into a scowl of disapproval and anger. “Maybe I don’t want it to be the ticket.”

Ransoms fingers dug into the soft flesh of your arm, as he held you tight. “Maybe I don’t want to be compared to Harlen,” he continued, blue eyes darting back and forth as they gazed into your own. “Maybe I never wanted that.”

Tongue reaching out and wetting your lips you saw his eyes drop to your mouth briefly before flashing back to your eyes, “Then, what do you want Ransom?”

Something in his gaze changed, the hard edge of outrage and anger almost vanishing as he began to lean a little closer to you, breath ghosting over your face; his gaze flickering behind you briefly before Ransom shoved you hard down to the pavement. 

Scraping your knee through your pants and grating your hands as you caught yourself before turning around in outrage, “Ransom! What the fuck, you son of a-”

The words died on your lips as you turned seeing him catching a punch to the face with a pair of brass knuckles and a stranger dressed in black. Ransom grunted as they hit him, getting in a couple of punches on the smaller framed person and attempting to subdue them. Then you saw the flash of a knife and before you could so much as shout the silver blade was plunged into Ransom’s abdomen as the attacker ran off. 

Ransom clutched the bloody knife in his hand as the two of you watched the person in black running away, down through the parking garage and away from the both of you. His blue eyes found your own before he dropped to his knees, red staining his hands and oozing from a gash on his cheek.

You didn’t scream, fuck you didn’t even know how or when you’d managed to dial 911 for the ambulance. But you were leaning over Ransom, hands pressed against his blood-soaked abdomen and tears streaming down your face when the EMTs pulled you away as they started to work. Hands shaking and tears pouring a police officer held you back as they worked, getting him on a gurney and you climbed into the back of the squad car to the hospital.

The detectives had taken your statement as they drove, you didn’t see much of anything. The description you gave was shoddy at best, just seeing a man running away dressed in black. By the time you’d reached the hospital and given the police, your information Ransom was in surgery and you sunk into the shitty vinyl chairs of the emergency waiting room, hands covered in blood. Ransoms blood.

Shakily you dialed your phone, sobbing into the receiver the only person you could think of to call. Marta came quickly; sitting with you in the waiting room. Convincing you to go wash up in the private restroom while she spoke to the doctors and nurses to find out any updates. You cried in the bathroom for what felt like hours watching as the red-stained water circled the drain.

Lizzie had come by with a change of clothes for you while you were in the restroom since your work attire was covered with dried blood and you’d refused to leave the hospital until you knew what was happening. She didn’t stay, but Marta did.

Ransom had been in surgery for five torturous hours, Marta sitting with you and holding your hand while your leg bounced anxiously. Talking with the staff to get updates on his condition while you openly wept in the chairs. Guilt swarmed you as you sat, this was all your fault. You should have never submitted that book to your boss. You should have never even snooped on the laptop in the first place. If you hadn’t Ransom wouldn’t be laid out on a table right now.

Three hours into the surgery the news flashed with a breaking story, “Thromby Avenged” flashed over the screen with the news anchor recounting what had happened. “Acquitted in the deaths of Fran Patterson and his grandfather, famed novelist, Harlen Thromby, Hugh Drysdale was attacked today in a downtown parking garage. The attacker, a man who worked at the publishing firm housed in the building, having posted on social media shortly after his stabbing of the man was apprehended in his home shortly….” You tuned it out after that.

He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. 

Now standing outside of his recovery room, watching him through the glass window you felt the tears you were sure you’d cried out start all over again. What an idiot. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, if you hadn’t been such a bitch; none of this would have happened.

The doctors assured you he was going to be just fine, he’d lost a lot of blood and the internal injuries were taken care of now he just needed to rest and heal. They insisted that you leave and let him rest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. It made you sick to think he looked so innocent lying in that bed. That someone who was such an asshole to you would be helpless for any iota of time.

That Ransom Drysdale would be selfless enough to push you out of the way before getting stabbed in a parking garage.

The ding of the elevator sounded as it rumbled open down the hallway, the clacking of heels hurriedly rushing through the hallway and muffled arguing coming closer. “Where is he?” Shrieked a voice you recognized only in your worst nightmares.

Turning around you saw Linda Thromby and Richard Drysdale standing at the nurse’s station, the poor stunned woman staring at the pair as they loudly demanded to see their son. Reaching over you closed the door to his recovery room before standing beside it. The movement drew Linda’s attention and her classic ire.

“You,” she accused, pointing directly toward you. The heels of her shoes clicking against the floor as she stomped closer. Somehow you’d been so busy dealing with him you’d forgotten about his insane asylum family and it brought you flashing back to the years you’d hung out with Lizzie at the family home. “You’re that friend of Lizabeth’s, the one who tagged along during the summer and for weekends.”

“Oh good, you remember me,” you deadpanned with zero emotion in your voice. Dragging your eyes up and down Lindas perfectly pressed tweed skirt suit and then over to Richards puzzled expression, his own slimy gaze dragging up and down your body.

“What are you doing here?”

What seemed like an honest question never truely was with this family and you knew it. Deciding immediately to cut to the quick and not give them the satisfaction of dragging it out of you for their amusement. “Ransom lives with me,” you said, exhaustion evident in your voice.

“Lives with you?” Richard exclaimed with a laugh. He stepped beside Linda, the pair boxing you in against the wall. “You mean he’s sleeping with you." 

You could feel your face turn red in both anger and embarrassment, you couldn’t deny it cause he did sleep with you. Every night in the same bed, but it wasn’t for the reason he was implying but that wouldn’t matter at this point. Richard then rounded on Linda with a snort and a smirk, "I told you he would find some little hussie to shack up with.”

The comment made your blood boil faster than you would have liked, people always said you had a temper but Jesus this family managed to always get you riled up with just a few phrases. Gritting your teeth you put a half pleasant smile on your face, noting the hospital staff as they watched the three of you intensely. “Not that it’s any of your business Richard, but we’re just friends.”

Scoffing at you with an eye roll Linda reached out towards the door but your arm shot out grasping the door handle before she could reach it, using your body to block the woman from entering, “You can’t go in there.”

“The hell I can’t I’m his family.”

“I said you can’t go in,” your voice affirmed, glaring at the woman and holding your ground. Jesus what was it with this family and being told no. “He’s resting.”

“He. Is. My. Son.”

“Who you abandoned like a dog!” 

One of the nurses at the station cleared her throat at your shout, fucking hell these people. Sighing your fingers rubbed at your eyes tiredly, “Look, Linda, you never liked me. Even with Lizzie was dating Ransom you made it perfectly clear that I was never welcome. But if you go in there. If you think for a second I will let you use this situation to your advantage. If you think I am about to let you waltz back in and pretend that you didn’t leave him stranded, your wrong.”

The woman stared at you, her frown lines deepening as you stared unblinking into her glowering face. In fact, Linda Thrombey looked fit to burst right now.

“If he wants you to come, he’ll call you. Assuming you don’t hang up on his the moment you hear his voice. So fuck off Linda, you’re not welcome here.”

Linda’s face began to turn an odd shade of red as Richard grasped her upper arm, pulling her away from you with a glare, “We’ll be back.” He said ominously with harsh whispers and pointed looks back at you as you stood in front of the door and they went back around the corner where they’d come from.

Breathing a heavy sigh you adjusted your bag on your shoulder once more, looking over to the nurse’s station where they soundlessly applauded you and gave a thumbs up. Your face heating at the gesture before you opened the door to Ransoms’ room and closed it behind you. Taking a seat in the chair beside his bed with an exhausted sigh, pulling out the binder clipped stack of papers from your bag and looking at them. Last Rights was an amazing book, it had everything in it but it wasn’t worth this.

The sound of movement shifted your focus and you looked up as Ransom stirred in the bed. Shifting in the semi-dark and blinking heavily as he brought his hand to his eyes; the lids still heavy with painkillers as you reached over, fingers tangling against his own. Ransom stiffened for a brief moment, before looking over at you and relaxing back into the bed with a lazy smile, “Hey, Marshmallow.”

A choked noise left you and you didn’t know if it was a laugh or a sob, but you hated to admit that you missed the nickname. “Hey, asshole.” Ransoms’ lips quirked at that a little before he grimaced, closing his eyes and shifting uncomfortably again. “I have bad news,” you started with a quirked smile. “They say you’re going to be fine.”

“Oh, that is bad news,” he replied, voice heavy and gravely from sleep and intubation. Reaching up you grabbed the cup of water that they’d left for him once he woke up from surgery. He sipped slowly as you held the glass, his head falling back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “What did they say?”

Swallowing hard you set the cup down, still not letting go of his hand; “The knife perforated your liver but they were able to stop the bleeding. No alcohol or strenuous exercise for a few weeks while it heals.”

He nodded, head lolling to the side, giving you a good view of the stitches in his face; it was your only request that the wound was stitched by a plastic surgeon and amazingly they’d done as you asked. 

“Well, there goes my nightlife,” he quipped lazily fingers pulling the oxygen tube from around his nose and dropping down to the bed again, hitting against the tiny black plunger to the machine next to him. He lifted it looking at the slim device. “What’s this?”

“Pain medication.”

"What are they giving me?” He asked trying to turn and see the machine, you wanted to laugh at this goofy out of sorts man before you. But the guilt weighed you down. Ransom flinched as he turned to look his thumb pressing the plunger then slumping with a pleasant sigh against the sheets as the medication coursed through him. “Morphine. Ironic.”

“You scared me,” you said with a whisper. His blue eyes snapping over to you, dilated with the Morphine coursing through his veins. “You almost died Ransom. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything. I shouldn’t have sent the script to my boss. I shouldn’t have exposed you like that.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” his voice was rough, but his hand squeezed your own. His blue eyes watching you, a little more awake now than before and blinking at you with a burst of clarity. “But it will be alright. I’m mad about Last Rights, but don’t beat yourself up about it too much. And for fuck sake stop crying. The last thing I need is you being a blubbering mess while I’m lying here dying.”

Blinking your free hand went up rubbing away the tears that had managed to leak out of your eyes once again, a half-laugh escaping you. “They said you’ll be fine, Ransom. Don’t be such a pussy.”

A smile quirked his lips up a little and he closed his eyes once again, relaxing into the bed before another sigh escaped him and he audibly swallowed hard. He hadn’t let go of your hand and your thumb brushed over the back of his fingers, careful to not jostle or bump the IV in his hand. 

“Your parents stopped by,” you mentioned casually. His head snapped up and over to you so fast you were sure you heard his neck crack. Brow furrowed and a look of anger crossing his face. “I told them to fuck off.”

Almost agonizingly slowly a proud, tired, smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, “Atta girl Marshmallow,” he muttered. And you knew then that he was actually going to be alright.


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” you asked, watching as Ransom sat tentatively on the edge of the bathtub as he ran the water. 

He was shirtless, wearing the pair of boxers he’d come home from the hospital two days ago. The incision on his abdomen looked an angry pink as you watched the tub begin to fill with water. You’d managed to finally convince him that he needed to clean up for real today after you brazenly ran your hand through his hair during his afternoon nap and left it standing on end for the remainder of the day.

“I think I can handle giving myself a bath,” he sneered back, flinching as he turned to check the temperature of the water one last time.

“Fine,” you snorted, walking out of the door of the bathroom, grasping the handle before turning around, “The doctors said don’t fill it too far. Oh, and when you need help don’t even bother shouting for me, asshat!”

With that, you slammed the door behind you, wincing as it echoed in the quiet apartment. Stomping to the kitchen, you reached into the fridge and cracked open a beer. Sucking down half of it before the door even closed, a frustrated growl escaping as you stomped your feet in the kitchen.

He was driving you up the wall.

Ungrateful son of a bitch. You’d taken time off of work to help him these first few days, but he’d spent most of it griping about everything and dishing out as many biting comments as possible. Thank god he spent most of it sleeping, taking the prescribed pain killers as you doled them out to him. The meds made him more irritable if anything and truth be told, you were ready to get rid of the remainder if he bitched about them being weak one more time.

Maybe you just needed some time away? 

A night out with someone who didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. 

A few drinks with someone who would brighten your dismal looking love life. 

Leaning on the counter and playing with the bottle cap in your fingers, you reached into your back pocket, pulling out your phone and swiping around until your thumb hovered over a name in your contacts list. It had been a good two weeks since you’d gotten Aiden’s number at the coffee shop. He’d more than likely already forgot about you, but you needed a night away from Ransom and his crabby ass.

So you typed, _“Hey, don’t know if you remember me, I’m Y/N from Coffee Chaos. It’s been a couple of weeks. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime? No pressure, know it’s been a while.”_

Sighing, you watched the cursor blink, thumb hovering over the send button when a crashing sound from the bathroom made you jump. It was followed by furious cursing in the room and a few other sounds, like the squeaky faucet turning off. 

Abandoning both your phone and beer on the counter, you burst through the bathroom door to see Ransom still sitting in the tub, the bottles of shampoo floating in the water and the level of it suspiciously close to the incision on his abdomen. 

But that wasn’t the only thing on display. 

Eyes widening in astonishment as they darted down, then back up to his face. But once more down as you swallowed hard. Face as red as a cherry tomato as your brain short-circuited and your mouth opened to say something, anything. But all that came out was a petrified squeak at the sight of Ransoms one-eyed-monster.

“Could you not stare at my dick and help me!” He snapped, irritation plain as day on his face along with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “These fucking meds are making me weaker. I can’t even get out of the god damned tub.”

Clearing your throat, you reached over to the towel rack and picked up a hand towel throwing it in his face. He snatched it away with a snarl, “Cover your junk so I don’t have to stare at you completely naked, please.”

Grumbling, he did as asked, wetting the towel and using the soaked material to cover his lap

Closing the door behind yourself, throwing a towel on the floor to kneel on as you rolled your sleeves up. “This wouldn’t be so bad if you would just let me help you, Ransom. You’re hurt and you need help right now. Stop trying to fight me and it will just make it all easier.”

“I don’t need your help, Marshmallow.”

It was a quiet protest but one you still didn’t miss. Pursing your lips you looked at him; damp hair sticking to his forehead, still dry in places as he’d obviously tried to wet it. “You do need my help,” you whispered beside him, your hands pulling down the bar of soap from the holder, “And it’s alright. I won’t make you ask me to help you, Ransom. I’m just going to do it.”

Quietly, you picked up the plastic cup and dumped the warm water over his head. He sputtered the second you did it but didn’t complain after you’d squeezed some shampoo in your hand and began to lather his hair. It was about that time, through your annoyance and irritation, you realized that this was intimate. Washing his hair for him in your bathtub all because he couldn’t lift his hands over his head without it hurting.

“I don’t want to take the meds anymore,” he stated, voice a quiet rumble as you lathered his scalp with shampoo. “I want to recover faster and they’re not doing much in the way of pain relief anyway.”

“Alright,” you whispered, agreeing with him easily, his eyes drifting over to you in surprise. He didn’t expect you to cave so quickly. “The muscle weakness will fade in a couple of days, but just be sure to take it easy alright? I have to go back to work tomorrow and can’t take any more time off. I’ll try to work from home if I can to help you out but you’re going to have to do something.”

Tipping his head back as you rinsed the soap and suds out of his hair, winding your fingers through the damp locks as you slowly pour the warm water over him. Once the white suds were gone, Ransom scrubbed a hand over his face, your hand perched on the edge of the tub about to stand up. 

“Thank you,” he rumbled, not looking at your face. In fact, he looked a little flush. “For helping me. Thank you.”

It struck you to tease him, but you were too taken back by the statement to even think of a teasing remark, so you just smiled and using the tub as leverage, attempted to stand. Your hands were wet and slick with soap, so when the hand gripping the porcelain edge slipped you went crashing right into Ransom. Hands scrambling for purchase in a vain attempt at preventing yourself from falling into the bathwater with him.

Landing in the water with a gasp, your fingers dug into the top of Ransom’s shoulders. Looking up, your startled angry gaze met the laughing one of Ransom. A genuine smile playing on his lips that soon faded as his hands gripped your sides in a half-hearted attempt to catch you. Rather quickly you realized you were not only soaking wet now, but laying across a nude man in the bathtub.

Ransom’s hands held tight to your ribs, thumbs digging into the seam where your underwire met your breast. Making no attempt to help you out of the tub, only holding you; his fingers twitching and bringing you a touch closer as you attempted to sit upright. The heat from his hands leaving scorching trails as the water sloshed in the tub with your movement. 

You were impossibly close to his face, sea-blue eyes staring into your own with that same clarity you glimpsed days before in the hospital. But with a blink, it was once again gone, replaced with that teasing glint of amusement.

A smug smile pulled at the edges of his mouth as his eyes narrowed with the familiar arrogance, “Couldn’t wait to climb in with me huh, Marshmallow?”

Any embarrassment you felt left you really quickly after that. “Fuck you, Ransom,” you rasped, shoving him away, desperate to put any amount of space between the two of you now.

“You’re awful concerned with fucking me all the time, Marshmallow, but I’ve told you. I don’t fuck my roommates.”

With a scoff, you managed to wedge yourself out of the tub. Jean’s heavy with water and half of your shirt soaked as you dripped on the bathmat; behind your Ransom snickered. Shooting him a glare over your shoulder your own smirk grew as you popped the button on your jeans. Seeing his eyes widen slightly and the not so subtle shifting in the tub as you shimmied your soaking wet pants down your thighs to drop at your ankles, kicking them away under the sink and standing before him in just your panties.

“Oh, I remember Ransom. You’ve never been interested in girls like me anyway.”

His smirk faltered into a scowl as he looked up at you, “What’s that mean?”

“You know exactly what I said,” you taunted, setting another towel on the edge of the sink before turning and looking down your nose at him. “I’m assuming you can get out of the tub on your own. I’ve got to go dry off and change my clothes.” With that you made a hasty retreat from the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Jesus, what was wrong with you?

From the other room, your phone chimed. Wandering into the kitchen and picking it up, you swiped up to your messages. Surprised and a little elated to see a reply from Aiden. _“Hey Y/N. Yes, I do remember you. I hope things have settled for you a little bit. How about drinks and dinner this Friday? Say at 8?”_

Biting your lower lip a smile threatened to creep its way onto your face. Hastily you typed back your agreement for drinks and dinner before your thumb hovered over the send once again. A string of muffled curses came from the bathroom as Ransom came out, a towel wrapped around his waist and hair ruffled from drying.

Why were you hesitating?

Scrunching your nose you hit send. Breathing a sigh as you went to set down the phone again and it chimed again. “Great! I’ll text you the details on break.” A sort of giddy elation filled your stomach. Maybe things were starting to actually lookup for you after all.

Friday finally rolled around and by some miracle, you’d made it through without strangling Ransom all week. He was much better after not taking his medicine anymore, moving around easier and doing more for himself. There was still trouble with bending down, but he was getting out of bed now more and had begun camping on the couch.

“Okay, how do I look?” 

The announcement falling from your lips as you came out of the bedroom in a pair of ankle boots and black leggings. They were one of your favorite pairs that laced up the back of your legs; the sparkly sequin top you wore just enough to catch the light and look cute and flirty but not too loud for a first date.

Studying yourself in the hallway, mirror you didn’t rightly notice the slight widening of Ransom’s eyes or the way he swallowed harder, shifting a little on the sofa before grunting out, “You know I could see better if I wasn’t laid up on the couch right?”

Rolling your eyes, you walked into the living room, standing in front of him with your arms out and turning around slightly. “What do you think? Too slutty or just slutty enough?”

He swallowed hard again, his blue-green eyes studying you. “Is that what you’re going for, coy slut?”

“Fuck you, Ransom,” you snorted; going back over to the mirror and picking up your mascara from the end table as you walked past.

“I don’t fuck my roommates,” he smirked with a sigh. Pausing the murder documentary he was watching, he didn’t look overly annoyed but he didn’t look interested either. That’s how you knew something about all of this was bothering him. “What’s the big deal with this guy anyway? He’s just a barista right, not like he’s going to get you to Aruba or anything.”

“Good cause I hate the heat,” you mumbled, using a finger to rub the edge of your lipstick a little more. “Besides I don’t need a man who’s going to take me to Aruba.”

“Just one that will make you sweat like it right?” The blood rushed to your face in embarrassment as you whipped around glaring at him. “You talk pretty loud when you’re on the phone with Lizzie, Marshmallow.”

Shaking your head, you scoffed at him, watching as he picked at a piece of lint on the gray sweats he wore. “I’m nervous, why am I so nervous?”

“I don’t know, maybe cause he’s a barista?”

“Will you stop that with the barista dig? He’s a good guy, it’s just a first date anyway.”

“When was the last time you actually went out with a guy?”

Oh shit when was the last time you went out with someone? You’d dated plenty in college and more than a handful of times after moving in with Lizzie. But it’d been, god damn it had been a while. Tucking your purse under your arm you turned your nose up at the question slightly, “The last guy was a delivery guy from Queens. He wasn’t too great.”

Ransom snorted from the couch, “So a fifteen or less guy huh?”

“A little longer but at least it was free,” you replied with a smirk, relishing in his annoyed look. “Stop trying to pick a fight just because you don’t like Aiden.” 

“It’s not hard to hate a guy who’s in his 30s and still a barista,” he said with a shrug. “Dude needs to get a clue.”

“Says the man who’s never had a job before,” you snarked back.

The glare he shot you was cutting, but you just laughed at him with a roll of your eyes. Reaching down to pick up your keys and noting the time you checked your hair one last time in the mirror. “Alright, I’m out. Don’t wait up.” The door slammed behind you, but you could have sworn you saw his face turn into a distinct scowl before you left followed by a long string of curses.

The date with Aiden went about as well as you could expect it to, sadly you found him more interesting as a friend than as real boyfriend material. But with how handsy he turned out to be towards the end of the night, maybe he was more a one-night tryst kind of guy. 

It was around three AM when you managed to stumble back into the apartment, a torrent of giggles leaving your mouth and slamming the door behind yourself. A loud long shush coming from your mouth before laughing; Aiden was right next to you. A breathy laugh leaving his mouth as he pinned you up against the door, his lips on your neck and pressing your hand against the door.

“Did you have a good time kiddos?” Ransom’s voice floated in from behind you, his looming outline lurking in the hallway. His hand reached over, clicking on the standing lamp in the living room, making you blink heavily at the flood of new light.

“Heeeeyy Ransom,” you greeted drunkenly with a smile and a little wave. The whole situation feeling remarkably like being caught by your parents after a night out.

“So this is Ransom,” Aiden grumbled, looking him up and down, obviously a lot less drunk than you were at this point.

The brunette didn’t have time to question the other man because you were already pushing past Aiden and stumbling towards him. “Ransom I had so much fun tonight,” you exclaimed, fingers twining into the threads of the zip-up cardigan he wore when working on the laptop. “But I’m tired so I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Quite clumsily you made your way down the hallway, utterly forgetting about Aiden and using the wall as support as you made it to your room, disappearing through the door. Ransom stood looking at Aiden, his blue eyes calculating and searching the man’s face before stating with a pointed glare, “You should go.”

Aiden laughed a little before turning and clutching the doorknob. “Hey no problem man,” he said, pulling open your front door again. “For the record, that girl’s got it bad for you. You’re all she could talk about all night. Good luck.”

The man left Ransom standing, staring shocked at the doorway before locking it and making his way down the hall to your room. Stopping in the threshold he took you in, sprawled out on the bed; one shoe discarded on the floor while the other was propped up on the covers and bent at what had to be an uncomfortable angle.

“Alright, you lush,” he said with a mock reprimand in his voice. His hands gripped your foot and pulled the remaining shoe off as you giggled at him, your face nothing but smiles. “You’re going to be so much fun to pick on tomorrow. But I’m going to need you to drink some water before you go to sleep.”

He disappeared for a moment before returning with a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin from the kitchen before setting both on the nightstand.

“Raaaansom,” you hummed, rolling back into an upright position. “You’re being so nice, why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice,” he stated with a huff. “You just don’t know any better cause you’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” you mumbled as he handed you the glass of water which you chugged down like you were slamming a beer in college.

“You don’t say,” he mumbled, one eyebrow raised as he looked down at you. He’d pulled out a tank top from your PJ pile and set them next to you on the bed. Standing up without warning, you whipped the sequin top off, the shiny fabric pulled up over your head while your hand fumbled to shove your leggings down. The top was thrown across the room with a flourish as you struggled to untangle your legs. 

Rolling his eyes, Ransom took a step forward, grabbing your elbow and stooping down with a half wince to help you step out of them. Your hands slid up from gripping his forearm to his bicep then along his chest in partial wonderment, “How are you so firm? I never see you work out. Always hiding this shit under fucking sweaters and stupid polos.” 

Ransom knew the statement wasn’t directed at him in particular but it did rile him enough for his eyes to flash in momentary irritation; both at the statement and the situation. Typically you’d meet his temper with your own, but this time his irritation had the opposite effect he’d been hoping for. The smirk on your face fell, changing into a look of obvious hurt as your eyes watered slightly.

“You don’t like me,” you whined sullenly.

“I,” Ransom paused, his brow furrowing slightly. Just how much had you had to drink that you were mood swinging all over the place like this? “I like you just fine Marshmallow.” 

“You always call me that,” you said, nose scrunching as you rolled back onto the bed. “Stupid college nickname all because of how I look right?”

“No,” he rumbled over you, sensing where this conversation was running before it even got going. “It never had anything to do with how you looked.”

The statement hung in the air, or at least it seemed to for him; you seemed to be oblivious to much of anything other than your own amusement. Kneeling on the surface of the bed you bounced a couple of times just for good measure, “I was really hoping to get laid tonight.”

He snorted and it seemed to spark your ire. 

“What!” Your exclamation and hands at your hips enough to bring an amused smile to his lips. “It’s been a long time alright, I haven’t even kissed anyone much in the last couple of years.”

Rolling his eyes, Ransom tried to grasp your elbow and guide you to the top of the bed to lay down. He was pretty sure this was what it was like to have an unruly child but for once bit his tongue on commenting. The last thing he needed was you crying, which could happen with just how much you’d drank. “Tragic. Time for bed.”

“You gonna tuck me in,” you mocked, legs wiggling under the covers and lying back in the soft sheets.

“If it will get you to go to sleep. Yes.”

Grasping his arm and pulling you jerked him down on top of you with a giggle. Ransom caught himself before crashing into you, his arms on either side of your head as the stitches in his side pulled slightly made a curse escape him. Leaning away brow furrowed and looming over you on the mattress your hands slid to cup his face and for a brief moment, your lips brushed against his own.

The breath hitched in his throat the moment he felt it. The sweet fruity taste of the mix drinks you’d had heavy on your breath, as your lips traced over his with the lightest of touches. Hesitant and teasing all at once, you pulled away from him a fraction his eyes never leaving yours and he knew it wasn’t an accident.

Lifting your head from the pillow, your nose bumped against his own just before your eyes slid shut, pressing your mouth against his again. Only this time Ransom took it. His hands slid into the soft locks of your hair, tasting the remains of sugar rim drinks and the strawberry gloss you wore. 

Your lips were just as soft as he’d thought they were, sweet and demanding against his own and he couldn’t help but take from you. His tongue slipping against your own briefly as he swallowed a moan from you. That was enough to bring him back to his own senses, breaking away from you with all the willpower he could manage.

Biting your lip, your eyes fluttered open slightly, a soft blush over your cheeks as you looked up at him. Breathing his name like a prayer and it was everything, but you were drunk and he could see the claims of sleep pulling you down.

Clenching his fists on either side of you he pulled further away. “Get some sleep Marshmallow.”

“Alright,” you sighed, rolling to your side and snuggling down into the pillow without another word or a fight.

There was no way in hell you were going to remember that come tomorrow. Sliding from the bed and pulling his pillow away from you, for once Ransom was glad you’d forget. But he wouldn’t any time soon.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun fell heavy though the curtains of the bedroom, burning into your skull even through your closed eyelids. Shifting under the covers, you found resounding darkness before turning onto your side and the world lost its balance for a brief moment as a dull ache began in your head.

With a pathetic whimper, you shut your eyes tighter in an effort to stave off the coming headache and go back to sleep. The mattress shifted behind you and fear settled in your belly like a stone. Heart leaping into your throat as an arm slid across your belly. Slowly pulling the covers down and turn your head to the body laying behind you.

The tension left the moment you realized, it was Ransom laying directly behind you. His face relaxed in slumber, making crinkles in his forehead disappear as long lashes flickering with each movement of his eyes, lips parted slightly with each deep breath.

He shifted slightly, arms pulling you closer reflexively in his sleep, exhale ghosting against the back of your neck. Normally you’d react just the same way you had in the past, stiffen and roll right out of the bed onto the floor and wish you were absolutely dead. But something about this felt different. The hold was more gentle but still firm against your body, the throbbing in your head becoming more pronounced with every second you remained awake.

Rolling over in an effort just to get comfortable, your hand slid instinctively around his back, tucking yourself under his chin, being mindful of the stitches on his abdomen. as he sighed against you, it was a soft content breath, but you didn’t dwell on it long. Closing your eyes once more and willing away what was bound to be a hangover of epic proportions, you quickly fell back to sleep.

Hours later you woke up to the telltale throbbing in your head. Pulsing alongside your heartbeat as the bright cheery light of day made you want to die, stuffing the pillow over your head and sighing as it enveloped you in sweet darkness. Quickly you realized that Ransom was nowhere to be found in the bed, the space long gone cold as you spread out with a heavy sigh, wincing. Oh my god was that your breath?

Kicking the covers off, you were slow to rise, rubbing your tired eyes and feeling the pulsing in your head growing worse. Elephants learned to samba in your skull, so that meant there was lots of tequila last night. Blinking heavily you squinted towards the nightstand and the bottle of Gatorade that sat with a bright orange sticky note on it. Drink me.

Smirking, you reached for the bottle, cracking it open and taking a small sip before gulping more of it down. God you were thirsty. You paused to shake out four tablets and take them before finishing off the bottle with a relieved sigh. There was another note stuck to the bottom of the jug, _Gone 4 coffee. B back @10._

Never once did you consider that you would be so grateful for Ransom in your life but this was that moment. Scrubbing a hand over your face your eyes caught the time, it was still early, only just after nine, and the shower was calling your name. So you shlepped yourself out of the bed and into the bathroom, closing the door and turning the squeaky knob to full heat and climbing in.

The water did wonders, helping you feel better after the long night of poor choices. The memory of the night before was a little hazy in some places but you could clearly remember Aiden plying you with more alcohol than was really necessary for a first date, making out heavy with him at the front door of the apartment. There was a hazy memory about Ransom showing up and then… nothing. Everything after that was blank.

Head throbbing in protest, you tried to remember anything else besides what had to be your ninth tequila shot of the night as you sucked the lemon wedge out of Aiden's mouth. His intentions and your own clear, last night was going to be a one and done.

A vague feeling started in your chest though, the hazy memory of soft lips and a fierce kiss at the end of the night. The heady desire to give as much as the other would take and relishing in the feeling. The taste of minty toothpaste and a skilled tongue flooded your mind briefly making your heart swell in excitement before it evaporated into confusion.

A second hand embarrassed flush filling you, was that you kissing Aiden? Scoffing at yourself, your hand snapped the shower off. Of course, it was Aiden, who else would it have been? Fingers wiped the water from your tired eyes before stepping out and drying off. What you were most worried about was Ransom. You hoped you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself in front of him; the teasing was the last thing you’d need right now.

Dressing in a fresh set of PJ’s with your phone in hand, you came out into the kitchen just as the front door opened. Aviators placed firmly over his eyes, Ransom came stomping into the apartment, paper coffee carrier in hand. He stopped cold when he saw you but kicked the door closed with a bang that had you flinching.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he teased with an almost ear to ear grin. “Sleep well?”

Groaning, you sunk down into the chair at the counter, hands tangling in your damp hair as you buried your head in your arms, “I don't want to talk about it.”

A paper cup clicked on the counter next to your head, glancing up at the extra tall java from the coffee house down the street. The scent of warm hazelnut and cinnamon soothing your mind.

“You were drunk as hell last night.” He remarked, discarding his coat on the back of the couch before picking up his own cup. “Don't think I’ve seen you that hammered since college. What do you remember about last night?”

Brows drawing together, you sat up a little straighter despite the pounding in your skull. “Not a whole lot if I’m honest. I don’t even really remember coming home,” you confessed, taking a heavy pull on the sweet concoction. A fleeting look close to disappointment passed over Ransom’s face before it was schooled back into his usual stoic mask.

Something clicked in your brain at that moment, the coffee was the right temperature for your liking, meaning he’d put ice in it before leaving. It also had the two extra pumps of vanilla you’d never failed to order, making you wonder just when Ransom had committed your coffee order to memory.

Then that kiss weaseled its way into your mind. Watching as Ransom played with the lid on his container, a plastic stir stick braced at the edge of his mouth. You had no idea why it would pop back into your head at this moment. That was Aiden, right?

Clearing your throat you glanced up at him, then back down to the paper cup clearing your throat. “Thank god Aiden left,” you continued. “I was so scared when I woke up that it was going to be him lying next to me and not you.”

Ransom snorted, popping the top on his own steaming Americano, “You’re telling me you’d rather wake up next to me than some stranger.”

The comment was meant to embarrass you and by the smirk on his face, you’d turned a lovely shade of red. Ransom’s eyebrow quirked as he took a sip from his own coffee, maintaining that pointed eye contact that had you squirming. Swallowing hard, your eyes looked away from him, unable to match his intense gaze. “I’m too hungover to have this conversation right now,” you lamented, voice a muffled grumble as you slid back down into the crook of your arm. “Come on Tylenol work your magic.”

A deep chuckle rose from Ransom and you peeked up from the counter to glare at him, “Don't look at me like that,” he reprimanded, teasing scowl pulling the edges of his lips. “You’re the one who decided to drink heavily when we have a meeting today. Or did you forget all about the publisher meeting?”

Snapping your head up you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Unbelievable,” Ransom smirked, leaning against the counter leering down at you. “You did forget, didn't you.”

The blush setting your cheeks on fire told the whole story. Hand fumbling a little, you squinted down at your phone as you scrolled through the calendar and there it was. The appointment you’d set up for today in just a short three hours. “Oh my god, what did I do?” The lament made you wiggle your face back into the crook of your arm, anything to hide from both the teasing gaze of Ransom and the embarrassment of forgetting what could be the most important day of his literary career.

With a clunk, Ransom set two jugs of white Gatoraid in front of you. “Bottoms up, Marshmallow.”

* * *

“And that’s the deal we’re looking at for the book,” Calvin, your coworker, and self-proclaimed office nerd said, leaning back in his chair and looking at Ransom. Cal was obnoxious, to say the least, in a three-piece suit with steepled fingers, as if he’d just pitched the concept of humanity to God himself.

Sitting next to Calvin, your gaze narrowed at him as the throbbing in your head began to return with your growing irritation. After your fourth bottle of Gatorade that morning, you were feeling as fresh as a trampled daisy by the time you’d dressed and did your hair and makeup. The sinking feeling of dread had gone away in the cab ride to your office, replaced with confidence as you put on what Ransom teasingly called your game face, as he helped you out of the cab.

But now the feeling was returning with a vengeance. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” your tone was both exasperated and annoyed. The two of you had come into work special just for this, the proposal for the publication of Last Rights. “This proposal is a fucking joke, Cal.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Ransom said, fingers drumming on the table in partial irritation.

The smile on Calvin’s face faltered as you stood, the wheeled office chair slamming against the wall with a clunk. “You’re taking his sole rights away for the book and keeping domestic net profit sales with a zero signing bonus. How the fuck is he supposed to make any money on this Cal?”

“You know he’s a fairly new author,” Calvin’s eyes darted from you to Ransom and back again. Craning his neck up to look at you as he shuffled papers back together into the folder in front of him, voice rising with his ire. “This is a typical deal for an up and coming author. It’s standard.”

“He’s Hugh Ransom Drysdale for the love of god!” You shouted over Calvin, gesturing to Ransom; he was sitting in the swivel chair tipped back and rocking back and forth in obvious amusement. “Grandson of Harlen Thromby, one of the best murder mystery writers in the last century. He fucking studied with the man!”

“He also was also implicated for his attempted murder,” Calvin said with a snort, turning suddenly worried eyes over to Ransom. “Um, no offense.”

“Some taken,” the two of you said in unison, sporting matching frowns of disapproval.

“Cal, this is ridiculous. If we can’t make him a real offer then what’s to stop him from going to a different publisher?” You said, tossing the folder onto the table with a slap.

Calvin’s eyes narrowed with your outburst, you’d just committed one of the biggest faux pas in the industry, threats at the table. “You’re not his agent, Y/N. You’re still just an assistant editor.”

The muscles in your jaw tightened at that little dig. You’d been in line for the agent position before Calvin was even a blip on the literary map until he’d stolen the position out from under you. Across from you, Ransom’s knuckles rapped against the table drawing Calvins attention, but your angry gaze still lingered on the man. “Not to break up this pissing match but the threat still stands.”

Your eyes snapped over to Ransom as your shoulders slackened, the ire you felt towards Calvin dissipating into mild confusion. “What are you talking about Ransom?”

“I’ve already taken it to another agency,” his fingers played with a tightly capped pen before bringing it to his mouth. Pearly white teeth gnawing at the plastic out of habit, sea-blue eyes locking onto yours as a smirk played at the edge of his mouth. “HC is very interested in the book. As is Puffin and their offers are much more substantial than the one being offered here. Even as a, what did you say, up and coming and as you know they don't share that information.”

He sighed dramatically, leaning forward, elbows on the desk surface as he looked over at Calvin, “I was hoping to work with a smaller firm. You know, boost them up a little cause as I’m sure we’re all aware my name is going to draw a crowd and have people scrambling for their first copy. So now you have to ask yourself what kind of deal your company is willing to make?”

It took everything in you not to laugh at this situation, biting your bottom lip in an effort to keep yourself from erupting in villainous joy and turning what you hoped was a stern gaze to Calvin, who was turning redder by the moment. “Oh, and I forgot to mention, Y/N will be handling the proceeds and processes for the book in full and any future books I decide to publish with you. No offense, Cal, you just lack a certain... touch.”

Calvin looked fit to burst and this time you couldn’t hold back the derivative snort as Ransom broke into a shit-eating grin.

Coming out of the elevator, your laughter echoed off of the buildings around you, “Oh my god, Ransom you’re the god damned devil himself.”

“A promotion is a promotion right?” He said with a smirk, holding the door open for you as you walked out, your hands wrapping the scarf around your neck sloppily against the cold.

“I suppose it is,” you snorted, holding onto his arm as you both descended the steps outside of the office. “But I didn’t expect to get one right at the table by holding Last Rights for literal ransom.” He gave a smirking laugh, stopping at the curb as your arm stretched out to hail a passing taxi, “Well I’m swinging past the deli to celebrate on the way home, any requests for dinner?”

“Actually I have a dinner date tonight,” he said, opening the door to the taxi for you before leaning down into the door. He waved off your surprised face, “It’s nothing serious so don't worry about that. Just having dinner with an old friend is all.”

“I wasn’t,” you started to explain, pursing your lips a little. Eyes searching his face briefly before throwing your hand up in a wave. “You know what, it’s none of my business. Have fun with your old friend.” Grinning ear to ear with the implied emphasis while Ransom looked a little disgusted with your display.

Closing the cab door on you, he waved you off before wandering down the street and around the corner. The publishing firm was located in what he’d consider a decent area, with enough coffee shops and classy restaurants it was easy to just pick one to meet at.

Stopping outside the restaurant, brown coat swaying around him slightly he pulled the aviators from his face before going in. It was a low key Italian place he’d found while wandering around one day; he bypassed the maitre d' before making his way to the small bar and the person sitting nursing what looked like a glass of, knowing this place, cheap bourbon.

“I’m here,” he deadpanned, looking down his nose at the man.

“Hello son,” Richard said, not even bothering to turn and look at him.

“Father.”


End file.
